


Good Tidings

by FlatlandDan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Hugs, M/M, Pudding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2721494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlatlandDan/pseuds/FlatlandDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Avengers Tower is invaded by aliens singing creepy Christmas songs, Clint knows *exactly* who to call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Lanyon for a speedy beta. 
> 
> Seasons greetings, lovely fandom <3

The first that Clint knew about it was the knock on this door. He was pretty sure he only got the knock out of respect for the fact he had just gotten back to the tower five hours before, the previous forty-eight having been spent somewhere cold, waiting (always waiting). The name was probably in his briefing pack but all he had really cared about was that the target was Hydra and, every hour, Phil had switched to his channel and asked for an update. It wasn’t easy dating the head of SHIELD, particularly when he lived on an actual super secret spy base. Or sometimes on an invisible plane!

There was another knock, this one sounding slightly less polite, and he cracked open his one eye in time for the light from the corridor beyond to come spilling in. He caught sight of a familiar silhouette before pulling his second pillow over his head.

“Fuck off, Tasha,” he mumbled.

“We have a situation,” she replied. He rolled over, taking the pillow and his blanket with him. “Come on, Clint, suit up. You missed the last two situations.”

“I was busy dealing with other situations at the time,” he answered and, yeah, he knew he was going to have to get up and deal with this situation because now that she had engaged him in conversation, he couldn’t pretend he was sleeping.

“You’ll like this one.” Clint felt the edge of his bed dip as she sat down. Maybe, if he just ignored her, the situation would go away. But of course Tasha persisted, giving him a gentle prod as she turned on his bedside light. “It involves robots...” 

“Are they going to kill us?”

“Maybe, we don’t know. They’re asking for figgy pudding.” Clint let that rattle around his brain for a minute before pulling the pillow off his head and staring at her.

“Why?”

“Why do they want figgy pudding? I don’t know. Tony and Jarvis are talking to them and Thor is whacking the ones that seem aggressive.”

“Aggressive how?” Clint said with a groan as he sat up beside her and rotated his shoulders, feeling them click slightly. He was getting too old for this shit. 

“Their singing is a bit more menacing than the others.”

Clint very nearly went back to bed.

* * *

"Seriously, what the hell is figgy pudding and why do these assholes keep demanding it?" Bruce asked no one in particular. 

Clint was very glad he wasn’t the only one asking questions like this, and also not the only one still in PJs at 3 o’clock in the afternoon during a situation. He saluted Bruce with his mug and was rewarded with a commiserating sigh. They had all assembled in the ops room, except for Tony and Thor who were in the main lobby dealing with the immediate issue of twenty robot carollers dressed in Victorian clothes and singing the same song over and over again. They appeared to have reached a stalemate after Thor had hit two of them. The robots stayed near the doors and Tony and Thor held the elevators.

“Figgy pudding is a pudding resembling a paler coloured Christmas pudding containing figs. The pudding may be baked, steamed in the oven, boiled or fried. Figgy pudding dates back to 16th century England. Its possible ancestors include savory puddings such as…”

“Thank you, Jarvis. Thank you for that.” Bruce interrupted. They watched the carollers silently singing on the screen, the audio long muted, their options slowly dwindling down.

“I thought that perhaps some historical context might help the situation,” Jarvis replied.

“It’s not that great to eat,” Steve interjected, as completely at a loss about what to do as the rest of them. “My grandmother used to make it. With really lumpy custard.” His voice trailed off…

“You’ve just never had a good one,” Clint replied. “I can’t believe you guys woke me up for this. I mean, do you want me to shoot them or not?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee. His brain hurt.

“Listen, Merida, they’re made out of an alien material. Coulson asked us to be tactful while the brains he has working for him try to identify who we are dealing with,” Tony snarked over the comms system.

“We’re waiting on the Brain Bus to figure this out? Ah man, we’ll be waiting for days. I’m no genius.” Clint punctuated his reply with another slurp of coffee. “But shouldn’t we just give them some figgy pudding?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but Clint may have a point. They’re not actively hurting us, just not going away or doing anything except singing that song. Maybe they’re just trying to communicate,” Steve said in agreement. 

“So we’ll get a pudding and see if that makes them leave. Jarvis?” Tony asked.

“The average fig pudding requires 48 hours of labour. I am unable to locate one within the New York area.” Jarvis replied, sounding mildly glum about the situation. 

“But you can find everything in New York!?” Tony yelled at him. 

“Apparently not two days before Christmas, Sir.”

“Maybe you could make a super steamer or something?” Bruce suggested helpfully, poking at the coffee machine a little. On the screen in front of them, the Iron Man suit turned to look at the camera and, Clint could swear that it glared at them. He wandered over to help Bruce with the coffee machine, silently wondering who thought something that involved pods was a good idea for a man with rage issues and as serious a need for coffee as Bruce. 

“So is that our big plan? We’re going to build a super steamer and hope they just hang around and wait?” Steve didn’t sound impressed, merely resigned to the idea. 

It had been a tough few months for them all, Clint knew. Between Hydra, Bucky Barnes, politicians calling for them to be unmasked and put on trial, telepaths and vigilantes, it had been one of the longest years of his life. And now it was Christmas, and he should be sitting around in ratty sweatpants eating Chinese food with Phil and arguing about what sports to fall asleep to on the couch. Clint wanted all that, but what he would settle for was a simple solution that didn’t involve a diplomatic incident. But after this year, he couldn’t help but feel he deserved more than settling. In hindsight, he didn’t know why it took him so long to come up with it, but when he did Clint couldn’t help but smile as the solution to all his problems crystallized in his mind.

“Well, I guess I really do get the save the day. I happen to know where a very good figgy pudding is currently sitting.”

* * *

Privately, what Phil liked to think that the biggest benefit to being director of SHIELD was that he could predict certain phone calls. The role came with a certain degree of what he considered practical telepathy. He had talked to Steve Rogers a few hours before and briefly to Tony Stark as well, because, yeah, creepy carollers made out of alien tech were something they were interested in helping with. There was awkwardness with both conversations, Steve because he didn’t trust SHIELD (god, that still hurt Phil to think) and Tony because he knew exactly what SHIELD was capable of in its current state.

“I can scramble some agents, offer containment if you need, and if you can send a sample I’ll get my top people on it,” he had offered. 

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Don’t worry. There’s only a few dozen of them and they seem to not want to be hit by the giant hammer. I’ll send your kids some samples,” Tony had answered. 

“Don’t kill them. We can’t deal with another big incident so soon. The press has already vilified SHIELD, the last thing we need is to have you guys pushing it.”

“Amen to that. We’ll contain unless they have chestnut cannons or something like that.”

Given all of this, Phil wasn’t surprised when, the next time he got an update from the Avengers, his caller ID displayed the slightly grumpy face of his long suffering boyfriend, while two rookie SHIELD agents slept propped up against him in the quinjet. It was one of his favourite photos and he was very, very pleased when both the rookies in it had turned out loyal to SHIELD. He was even more pleased when they turned out to be two of the brightest young scientists he had ever worked with.

“Clint.” He let himself smile slightly before leaning back in his chair

“I need you to let me into your mom’s house so I can steal the fig pudding she made a week ago.” Phil let his face drop into his hands.

“Has it really come to that?”

“Philllll…” Clint whined, the line crackling. “I want to go back to bed. I’m tired and there are stupid robots who just want a fig pudding.”

“Why are you calling me? You know you could just show up at my mom’s and she’ll give you whatever you want. She likes you.” Phil could swear,

“Yeah, but the thing is, I’ve tried calling and she’s not answering. I don’t want to break into her house, Phil, and I know you have a spare key.” Phil peered at his phone through his hands.

“You remember that I’m the director of SHIELD now, right? That I can’t just hop in my car and come let you into my mom’s house.”

“I know.” Phil could practically hear Clint grinning down the line. “You’re the director of SHIELD and so you are duty bound to help us come to a peaceful agreement with the alien life forms. Plus, you don’t hop into cars anymore. You make your superhero boyfriend catch a ride to your super secret base hanging onto a God.”

There was a thump on the roof. From somewhere beyond his door, Phil was fairly sure he heard an excited British voice exclaim Santa?. 

Phil Coulson simply sighed before reaching into his desk and pulling out a set of keys.

* * *

 

In the end, Clint and Thor’s visit was anticlimactic for pretty much everyone involved. Everyone stared at their arms for a bit, Clint shoved a piece of bread and half a cup of soup in his mouth and Phil spent a few minutes trying to figure out which key was his mom’s and which belonged to his sister's apartment in Maine.

“This is a fine base, Phillip. With a fine team. However, if I may be so bold,” Thor leaned a little closer as he spoke. “You are missed at the tower.”

Phil looked up from his keys and passed Thor to watch Clint be introduced to Skye (damnit, he should have been the one to get to introduce the two of them). “I never lived at the Tower.”

“That does not mean you are not missed.” Phil gave him his best diplomatic smile, knowing full well it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“You can’t always get what you want. Even if you’re the head of a slightly disgraced government agency.” 

Thor simply nodded. 

“Right, this one should get you in. Just the fig pudding Don’t let him shake any presents.” 

“I won’t shake any presents.” It was only years of training that kept Phil from elbowing Clint in ribs, as the latter materialised behind him. “You got a note to explain this?” 

Wordlessly, Phil handed over an envelope. He really wished he knew the right words to use to tell Clint how nice it was to physically see him, even for a few minutes.

He went with: “You have soup on your face.” And promptly wanted the whole complex to cave in on him.

Thankfully, Clint just grinned at him.

“It’s been good seeing you too. Come visit, sometime. May tells me she runs the place anyhow.” Phil couldn’t help but grin back, reach over and pull him into a hug. 

“I’ll see you Christmas Eve, promise,” he whispered, feeling Clint’s smile intensify against the side of his face.

“Don’t make me come collect you. I’ll bring the whole gang.”

* * *

Phil allowed himself a brandy while he watched Clint, a slight awkward smile on his face, present his mother’s figgy pudding to a new alien race. Admittedly, the way the tentacles came out from behind a caroller’s head was a bit unnerving but, if it was ever unclassified, he’s sure his mom would appreciate how quickly the pudding went down.

Everyone admired the star charts they projected onto the walls before they vanished.

* * *

Christmas Eve and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Phil was tucked up in bed, his stomach full of Chinese food, his arms full of Clint. Tomorrow, they had to drive up to his mom’s house and, based on the rate of phone messages, probably explain why they couldn’t wait a few days for pudding. The day after. he had a meeting with NASA to show them a few charts and gain a big favour with at least one government agency and then, Clint was off to Ecuador. They had, in total, 36 hours together this holiday season. 

“You awake?” he asked, and was rewarded with a sleepy thumbs up. “I’m sorry that dating the director of a super secret, slightly disgraced organization is so complicated.”

“I’m sorry that dating a superhero with both a fan club and his name on several government watch-lists is so complicated. At least you’re not dead anymore and we have so many air miles we can eventually have a holiday somewhere nice.”

“I’d like to go somewhere with you when no one is shooting at us.” Phil said softly. He was rewarded with a chuckle. “Still, at least we get to have weeks like this.”

“Yeah,” Clint replied, rolling over to smush his face into Phil’s t-shirt and throwing his arm over Phil’s chest. “I like it when everyone wins.”

Phil kissed the top of his head and realised he couldn’t have said it better himself.


End file.
